


driving back in style (in my saloon will do quite nicely)

by voidify



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff and Humour, Footnotes, Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy by Queen, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, not really a songfic but KINDA a songfic, oh we also stan one (1) wingcar, rated t for a very obvious fade to black, so it uses music to try to get them together, the Bentley is sentient and fed up with these dorks, we stan one (1) bastard angel and one (1) disaster demon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-03
Updated: 2019-08-03
Packaged: 2020-07-30 16:01:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20099857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voidify/pseuds/voidify
Summary: After a few months of regular Not-Dates at the Ritz with Aziraphale, Crowley had let go of any real hope of confessing his true feelings.But the Bentley had other ideas. And so, as it happens, did Aziraphale.





	driving back in style (in my saloon will do quite nicely)

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy, obviously. 
> 
> Thanks to onegaymore for beta and cheerleading, and to [this website](https://britishsurnames.co.uk/random) for helping me come up with names for the random humans. Absolute lifesaver if you’re rubbish at names.
> 
> By the way, I listened to the song while editing this to check that the timeline was actually possible. And it is! Not that it would be a problem if it wasn't, though; the Bentley would definitely pull some Infinite Jukebox (an amazing and also cursed website) shit so it could still time that thing at the end right.

Another week, another Not-A-Date with Aziraphale at the Ritz. Crowley was beginning to get used to it. Watching Aziraphale eat made his heart sing (if demons were permitted the use of such a cheesy phrase), and after a few months of _this_ and _this_ and _this yet again_, he barely even got impulses to tell Aziraphale how he felt anymore. It would be futile, he knew; an angel couldn’t possibly fall in love with a demon. Friendship was already pushing it. Even now, after Armaggedon’t, with their _own side_ and all that— it was probably hard-coded into angels or something not to get with demons. And as it was, Crowley was quite content _not_ making things awkward with his only ally, thank you very much. [1]

But the Bentley had its own ideas. When the evening was ended, and the angel and demon entered the car, _that_ song started playing. Just like it did after most of these evenings. 

_I can dim the lights and sing you songs full of sad things,_ Freddie crooned through the Bentley’s speaker system. _We can do the tango just for two…_

But instead of just letting it be awkward like all the times before, Aziraphale asked a _question. _“Crowley, why do you _always _play this song after dinner at the Ritz?”

“It’s— It’s not _me_ who chooses the song every time, angel, it’s the _car_. ‘S got a mind of its own. No proper regard for track order.”

They drove on in silence for a moment. Well, silence save for a love confession in the dulcet tones of Freddie Mercury. 

_Ooh, love; ooh, lover boy; what you doin’ tonight? (Hey boy…)_

“Crowley?” [2]

“Hm?”

“I wonder— might the car be trying to tell you something?”

Crowley short-circuited, stammering out a series of unintelligible noises. A family of five pedestrians were crossing the street right in front of the Bentley, but with a couple quick miracles, they were safely transported to the footpath. [3]

“Uh— I— You’re being ridiculous, angel,” he managed to say, forgetting to look at the road. [4]

“_Am_ I?” Aziraphale _raised a bloody eyebrow. _Crowley was incapable of rational thought, let alone speech, _let alone_ driving. [5] “There’s an empty parking space over there, dear,” Aziraphale suggested.

“Right. Yeah. Thanks.” Crowley swerved into the parking space, and the Bentley screeched to a halt. It was still playing that _song_, though. 

“So, what was it you wanted to tell me?” Aziraphale had that innocent smile on his face.

“Um— what— I don’t— w— I never said I— wanted to tell you anything.” Crowley cursed (would a demon say ‘blessed’?) his awkwardness.

“Really? Because if you do, I quite believe I might tell you the very same thing.”

Crowley blinked rapidly. “…What—?” Aziraphale couldn’t be saying what it seemed like he was saying.

“I’m in love with you, Crowley,” Aziraphale said matter-of-factly. Crowley thought he would discorporate right then and there from the shock. He sputtered. Aziraphale continued. “I have been for years. Centuries, even millennia, maybe. I had no idea how to say it until now, but I love you, and—”

“Uh. Same. I mean. I love you too. Have for thousands of years. Aziraphale… I… Hang on a second—” Crowley pinched himself, hard, and then slapped his own face twice.

“What was _that_ for?”

“Just had to make sure I wasn’t dreaming. Right, then.” Crowley could still barely believe this was really happening. “Aziraphale…” he whispered, at a loss for anything else to say. He tenderly cupped Aziraphale’s face with one hand, then hesitated— he couldn’t try to do something his angel might not want— 

_—I learned my passion in the good old-fashioned school of loverboys—_

And that quandary was resolved immediately, as Aziraphale took the initiative to kiss Crowley. It was a few seconds before Crowley remembered he was supposed to kiss back. Kissing Aziraphale felt unbelievably _pure_, and the sensation lit sparks inside Crowley. It was better than he had ever imagined, and also slightly grosser, and just generally overall more _human_. One hand grasped the front of Aziraphale’s jacket to keep him close; the other found a place in Aziraphale’s hair. Meanwhile, Aziraphale’s hands settled around Crowley’s waist. Crowley dared to deepen the kiss, and Aziraphale returned in like. For that moment, they were entirely lost in each other; nothing else in the world mattered except this— an angel and a demon kissing in a ninety-three-year-old automobile to the sound of Brian May’s guitar.

Suddenly, Aziraphale pulled away, breathing heavily. He was beautifully disheveled. “Well, that was, ah…”

“Yes.” Crowley nodded in agreement. They gazed into each other’s eyes for a moment. Anything could have happened— and Crowley would have allowed it, no, much more than _allowed—_ but then, Crowley glanced away. “Well. Should I. Um. Drop you off at the bookstore?”

Aziraphale opened his mouth to respond, likely in the affirmative, but then the car cut him off: that is, the song doubled in volume, with absolutely no input from Crowley. 

_—will do quite nicely; just take me back to yours, that will be fine. _

“Actually,” Aziraphale said, straightening his bowtie with deceptive innocence, “I do believe Freddie there just took the words right out of my mouth.” The sly smile on his face was enchanting. 

Crowley needed no further convincing. 

***

The next morning, Crowley left his flat to greet his car. “Well, I’ve got to admit,” he said, patting its bonnet, “you were actually quite helpful there.”

The Bentley’s engine made a noise. Although Crowley didn’t understand enough of the language of cars to realise this, the closest translation of that noise was _‘took you long enough’_.

***FOOTNOTES***

1Crowley still remembered that moment on the wall of Eden, when he’d criticised the overly obvious placement of the forbidden fruit— while standing right next to the angel that he, a demon, would go on to pine for over the next 6000 years. Occasionally, he wondered if the dramatic irony of it all was part of Her plan, or just a supremely ridiculous coincidence. [return to text]

2 Crowley might have been imagining it, but it seemed like the volume of the car speakers became significantly quieter at that moment, as if the Bentley was trying to make itself mere background music for conversation now that the _point_ was made. [return to text]

3 Pete and Amber Garrard assumed they had just zoned out in the process of crossing the street. Their children, Kellie, Rebecca, and Jeremy, were vaguely aware of the discontinuity of the experience, but distracted from it by a sudden craving for sushi— which their parents happened to also have, and thus, agreed to indulge. [return to text]

4 Alan McKaye, similarly to the Garrard parents, remembered this moment as having zoned out while crossing the road. He arrived at the other side knowing with _absolute certainty_ the answer to the internal debate he’d been having earlier that evening: he _should_ quit his dead-end job and follow his dreams. [return to text]

5 Heather Barton began to cross a street in Mayfair, and suddenly found herself in St. James’ Park— with an overwhelming realisation that she should _definitely_ ask Kirsty out. Years later, on their first wedding anniversary, a gift arrived at their door with a note in handwriting neither Heather nor Kirsty had ever seen before, signed ‘from your guardian angel’. [return to text]


End file.
